


Three Roads Taken, More or Less

by Minim Calibre (minim_calibre)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Imported
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 15:58:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minim_calibre/pseuds/Minim%20Calibre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's almost as funny as the storefront in Cassville, Missouri that read 'Beaver Liquor,' a store Dean still maintains could have made book if they'd added carpet sales to the mix."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Roads Taken, More or Less

**Author's Note:**

> From the prompt, "John, Dean, and Sam discussing confusing and/or amusing signs they've seen across America." Spoilers through 2x22, All Hell Breaks Loose Part II

**1\. I-5 North, Exit 22, 1996**

It's almost as funny as the storefront in Cassville, Missouri that read "Beaver Liquor," a store Dean still maintains could have made book if they'd added carpet sales to the mix.

They're headed north on I-5, on their way to the Washington coast, to some haunted something or other Dad's wanting to check out, when he sees the sign: Exit 22, Dike Access Road.

"Dude, it's not even SPELLED the same way," Sam says from the back seat almost before Dean snickers. Dean doesn't even have to turn his head to see Buzzkill Boy's eyeroll. He can hear it. Sammy's got a talent that way.

So does Dad, who just says, "Dean." in warning tones, nipping any desire Dean might have to start explaining to Sam why these things are funny, no matter what the spelling, in the bud.

For now, at least. Later, when it's just the two of them, Dean's going to make damn sure Sam understands something Dean's known for years about the importance of finding the humor in the job.

**2\. U.S. Route 491, 2005**

The more things change, the more they change, apparently.

Sam looks at the highway sign and frowns. It's been a few years, so maybe they're not where he thinks he is. Maybe it was a totally different road that looked exactly like this, except for the numbers on the road signs. Somehow, though, that doesn't seem very likely.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?" His brother has one hand on the wheel, while the other one fiddles with the buttons on the tape deck.

"Didn't this used to be..."

"Route 666, the Devil's Highway?" Dean snorts, hits play, and turns up the volume on the AC/DC tape. God, no wonder he's been rewinding and repeating Highway to Hell for the last 30 miles. "Yeah. Some whackjobs decided it was, I dunno, bad luck or something, so they changed it for good back in 2003."

By which time, Sam was safely away at Stanford and professing an allergy to road trips whenever the subject came up, which was pretty often, considering it was college. Still, he's a little surprised he managed to miss hearing about something like that. "Dude, seriously?"

"Seriously."

"That's just..." Sam pauses, and shakes his head.

"Lame? Whack? Sad? Stupid?"

"Yeah. All of the above."

"Pretty much, Sammy. Man, you'd think people'd have better things to worry about, but nope. Upside, though, is that the old signs are worth a freakin' mint now on the black market."

And there's only one way his brother could possibly know that, seeing as Dean doesn't exactly have a place to hang stolen road signs, and even if he did, it wouldn't be an upside if he was the one buying them. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You didn't."

"I did." He really doesn't have to sound so proud of himself, but knowing Dean, he probably thinks it was one of his better money making ideas. He also probably has some kind of justification for doing it, like it was a public service instead of stealing public property. Sometimes, Sam can't believe they're related.

"How many?"

"Just a couple."

Sam decides right then and there that a look of disbelief is worth a thousand variations on 'yeah, pull the other one.' He stares, brows raised, until Dean cracks.

"Fine, fine, OK, maybe a few more than a couple. Say, 10." When Sam pins him with another stare, Dean says, "What? The way I see it, I saved a hell of a lot of upstanding citizens a few tax dollars on sign removal."

And Sam laughs. He can't help it: the more things change, the more they stay the same.

**3\. U.S. Route 69, 2007**

Some routes out of Minnesota are faster. Hell, most of them have better scenery, not to mention better hotels and better diners along the way. But this one? This one's got the most potential to be mined for comedy gold. Or for mining brotherly annoyance, not that there's much of a difference between the two.

"Don't say it." And considering Dean hasn't so much as opened his mouth, maybe Sam's using those psychic powers of his to keep Dean from offending Sammy's delicate sensibilities. If Sam still has them, that is. Dean's unclear on that point. Well, the powers part of it at any rate. He's pretty sure the delicate sensibilities are still intact.

Dean glances over at Sam, who looks like he's been sucking on lemons. Not that that's much of a change. Sam's been looking like a pissy bitch since Minneapolis, where whatever lead he thought he had on undoing Dean's contract turned out to be a colossal waste of time. "Don't say what, Sam?"

"What you were going to say."

"Yeah, and what was that, exactly?"

"You know what I'm talking about, Dean, because you say it every single time we're on this road. Hell, I think it's the only reason we even take this road." Sam's starting to wind up now, voice getting a little louder, and Dean can practically hear the teeth grind. He's got no idea why, of all his lame-ass jokes, this is the one that gets to Sam, every single time, but right now, he's thankful for it, like he's always been thankful for anything he can use to distract Sam.

He looks over, puts on his best shit-eating grin, because he knows it'll drive Sam even further around the bend. "Hey, Sam?"

"What, Dean?" Sam lets out an exasperated huff for emphasis.

"We're, like, totally going down on 69."

"Hey, Dean?" Just a little too quiet, clipped. Yeah, Sam's about ready to blow.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"It wasn't funny ten years ago, it wasn't funny five years ago, and you know what else? Oh, that's right. It's still not funny today." His voice gets louder and louder, and his index finger's stabbing at the air like a one-handed, demented orchestra conductor.

And Dean laughs, hard, until he can hardly breathe. "Maybe not, Sam, but you know what?"

"What?"

"It may not be funny, but you sure as hell are."

Sam shakes his head, breathes out on a laugh. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

"I try."

"Yeah, I know," says Sam, chuckling softly and finally relaxing into his seat for the first time in miles. "Thanks."


End file.
